The Dead in the Marshes
by Daethule
Summary: The Dead in the Dead Marshes are more than just faces. They have their own stories. One shot. What Frodo sees when he falls in.


The Dead in the Marshes 

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: The Dead in the Dead Marshes are more than just faces. They have their own story. One shot. What Frodo sees when he falls in. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, wish I did, never will. Oh well.**

Frodo stumbled slightly over some hidden device, but quickly caught himself before he could fall. To fall in this place could nigh well equal disaster.

"Careful," the creature before him hissed in warning. "Master must keep his steps careful in this tricksy place." Behind Frodo, Sam disgustedly lifted his foot from the stagnant pool it had sunk into.

To say that Frodo totally trusted Gollum would be an understatement, but he had faith that he would guide them safely, and knew that his promise to the Precious would hold him for some time still. So far, the twisted being had attempted no harm to the Hobbits beyond their first meeting, and had certainly led them out of the maze of the Emyn Muil alright.

Sam was a different story altogether, though. He did not trust Gollum as far as he could throw him, if that much. He was still uncomfortable with Gollum running loose, and found it disturbing that he was almost constantly muttering and hissing to himself. Sam could just imagine the plots and schemes against them that he figured went through Gollum's head, all involving murder, stealing, and Orcs.

Yet he could not deny the fact that there was a change in the creature, for the better or not, and how long it would last, he could not tell. But his master seemed to trust him, so he would suffer Gollum, for his sake. However, he was careful to keep himself bodily between Frodo and Gollum.

So continued their trek through the Marshes, resting frequently and pausing often as Gollum went on ahead to test the ground.

When what they could see of the pale, cold sun through the bog was slowly westering, the Hobbits first noticed them: pale white and green lights shining in the water. When they inquired of them, Gollum sharply commanded them not to look at them.

Sam tried hard not to look, but his eyes were inadvertently drawn to one of the shining white lights, and he leaned slightly forward to better see it. Almost immediately, though, he wrenched himself back, horrified. "There are dead things!" he cried. "Dead faces in the water!"

"Yess, yess," hissed Gollum, not surprised. "Elves, Men, and Orcs, all rotting, all dead. The Dead Marshes, yes, that is their name. A great battle there was fought here, long ago. Many fell there: Elves, Men, and Orcses. The Marshes have grown since then, swallowing their graves, and now here they lie."

"But—but that was so long ago!" exclaimed Frodo. "Surely they cannot still be here! Are they real?"

Gollum merely shrugged his bony shoulders. "Sméagol tried to touch them once, we did, but they are deep, very deep, beyond reach. And there they will stay forever, holding little candles. Don't follow the lights!"

He turned away and the Hobbits disgustedly followed after him, keeping their eyes trained on the ground before them.

Frodo continually lagged behind his two companions, as he felt the Ring grow heavier with every step closer to Mordor that he took. Usually Sam would notice his master falling back and would wait for him to catch up or go back and assist him.

On one of these cases though, Sam's mind was preoccupied with other things, and he did not notice as his master stumbled a bit off to the side, toward a large pool of green, stale water.

Something had caught Frodo's weary eyes and had drawn him hither, to the water. When he reached the water's edge, he stared down for several moments at what was within, the pale white face hypnotizing him. He had lost control over himself, could not move. The eyelids in the face suddenly flew open to reveal blank white eyes, and Frodo felt himself being pulled forward. He hit the water with a loud splash and felt himself sinking down further with every passing moment.

Recovering from the initial shock of the fall, Frodo opened his eyes only to be greeted by a greenish-white light before him. He floated there spellbound as the light slowly approached him, and as it got closer, he could make out the ghostly figure of it.

Time stood still in the deafening silence as the figure drew nearer, reaching out with one bony hand. Wispy white hair flowed out behind the rotting face, and stark white eyes held Frodo's. An overall green light surrounded it.

The Hobbit tried to recoil in horror, but found himself still paralyzed. He became aware of more of the ghostly figures all around, totally surrounding him. The one before him gave an odd groaning cry as it extended its hand, touching the Hobbit's face, the transparent fingers sliding right through.

A million images instantly assaulted his mind. In a flash, Frodo saw in his mind's eye a tall, noble Elf with flowing golden hair, striding through a bright forest. Then, the image of the same Elf laughing and twirling around a small child while a woman smiled as she looked on nearby. The image quickly faded to be replaced by another; the Elf rode at the lead of a column of warriors all glimmering and shining in their armour. At his side rode a younger Elf, whom Frodo somehow knew to be the child from before. Then Frodo saw a great battle of Elves, Men, and Orcs in a dark land. The fight seemed to last forever, the tide repeatedly changing favours. Suddenly, he saw the young Elf lying on the ground, surrounded by a great pool of blood. An agonizing, grief-filled cry, horrible to hear, filled the air above the sounds of battle, and the older Elf collapsed on his knees next to the younger one. Wailing, he clutched the other close to him, weeping bitterly and crying out in the grey tongue. An Orc suddenly appeared behind the distraught Elf with raised scimitar, and the vision suddenly cut off, bringing Frodo back to the present.

So great was the intensity of the raw emotions in that last scene, Frodo felt himself overwhelmed, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Just before he lost consciousness, Frodo felt an iron grip on his shoulder, hauling him up. As he broke the surface of the water, covered in slime and soaking wet, his starved lungs gave a great gasp for the much-needed air, and he coughed as he tried not to choke.

After a few short moments, he turned to his savior. He blinked in surprise and muttered "Gollum…" before he was interrupted.

"Don't follow the lights!" Gollum hissed angrily before quickly scurrying off.

Sam replaced him at his master's side in an instant. "Mr. Frodo!" the Hobbit exclaimed. "Are you alright!"

Frodo gave a small nod, still staring after Gollum, before turning to look back at the dark waters. No sign of the lights or ghostly creatures could be seen, and he half wondered if he had imagined it all. But recalling the clarity and intensity of the visions left little doubt in his mind. "Yes, Sam. I'm fine."

Sam carefully helped him to stand and they were soon on their way again, following after Gollum. Frodo never told another of what he had seen or what had happened there in the Dead Marshes, nor did he ever write it in the Red Book of Westmarch.

As the Hobbits and their guide continued on to Mordor, leaving the Marshes further and further behind, and the sun slowly sank beyond the horizon, leaving all the lands dark, the twinkling lights in the bog of the Marshes slowly twinkled out one by one, until all was dark and silent.

THE END

This is my only fic I ever wrote where Legolas wasn't the main character. (gasp!) Well, I hope you liked it! Please leave a comment if you have a spare moment. Flames welcome as always.

Oh, in case you're wondering, yes I do write stuff other than one-shots. Dozens, in fact. I just probably won't ever post most of them. I hope you had a merry Christmas!


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